


Sins Of Our Fathers

by SlightlyOff7



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Dragon Age OC - Freeform, Dragon Age: Origins Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlyOff7/pseuds/SlightlyOff7
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Denerim, Queen Anora has an unsettling but enlightening encounter with the new Hero of Fereldan.
Relationships: Alistair/Anora Mac Tir, Leliana/Male Mahariel (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Sins Of Our Fathers

Anora had always hated the sound of Denerim’s bells. Their cacophonous symphony was echoing through the night, and they made Anora grind her teeth as she strode through the halls of the palace. The city’s bells were old and thin, making their peals into a high, tinny sound that grated on her ears. Whoever was in charge of them (Anora had been queen for five years, and she was still unsuccessful in learning who actually rang them) let them ring for far too long. Most of all, she hated what they signified. They rang for sieges, funerals, Chantry gatherings, and weddings, dreadful affairs all. She couldn’t hear them anymore without thinking of her wedding day. Cailan had smiled nervously at Anora through the whole ceremony, as though trying to assure her that being married to each other wouldn’t be _that bad_. The worst part was that he’d been right. It had taken them a while to warm to each other in any way beyond friendship, but gradually Anora had grown to see her sweet, foolish husband as more than just the match King Maric and Loghain made for her. But then her father left Cailan to die, and now someday soon the bells would ring for her again, as she said new vows to a man who might as well be Cailan’s spectre. Despite the warmth of the palace interior, Anora shivered.

Tonight, the bells were ringing for the mass knighting ceremony currently being held in the Great Hall. There were always many honors to be given out after the conclusion of a battle: knightships for men who’d proven their valor by saving some lordling or killing lots of the enemy, royal gifts and declarations of gratitude to banns who’d led with distinction, consolation and thanks to the families of those who’d lost their loved ones. The Battle of Denerim had left them with so many heroes, living and dead, that she and Alistair had been giving commendations for half the day and well into the evening. Thankfully, they’d saved the knightings for last, and thus Anora could beg out of the proceedings on account of not being a knight. Alistair, Eamon and the rest were still saying vows and tapping people on the shoulders with swords, but the whole day all Anora had wanted to do was get out of that hall. Every time she stood within it now, all she could see was her father’s blood pooling on the stones. _This whole castle is filled with my ghosts,_ she thought, _and it’s where I’ll spend the rest of my days._

Anora’s restless pacing finally drew to a close in front of a pair of thick oaken doors, and with a start she realized her feet had carried her to the palace’s Chantry. She quickly considered whether she should just retire for the night, but for whatever reason she didn’t yet feel any of the fatigue she should after such a long day. This Chantry was rarely used for anything beyond private reflection, on account of its modest size, and Anora reasoned it was as good a place as any to not be disturbed. Her mind made up, she pushed the doors open. Inside, moonlight was streaming through the stained glass windows that lined the walls, casting a ghostly pall over the pews and statue of Andraste. To Anora’s surprise, the moon’s rays also illuminated a single figure seated in the front pew. As they turned towards her, she instantly recognized pointed ears poking out of jet black hair and lines of black ink swirling across a tanned face with deeply set blue eyes.

“Warden Mahariel,” she said, careful to keep her tone empty of anything but polite surprise, “I didn’t expect to find you here.” The Dalish elf acknowledged her with a twist of his mouth that could have been meant as a smile or a grimace, and he lifted a sizeable wineskin Anora hadn’t noticed he was holding in a mocking toast.

“Well met, Your Majesty,” he called out to her, his voice echoing harshly around the nearly deserted chamber. “I was merely searching for some peace and quiet after all of the day’s pageantry. No one looks for an elf in a Chantry, after all.” His tone shifted to a teasing lilt. “What brings you here at this hour? Anxious over your upcoming nuptials?”

“Hardly,” Anora shot back, frowning. She had no time for Leo or his games. Not anymore. “Just looking for the same solitude you were.” She made to leave the way she’d come, but the Grey Warden’s voice called her attention back.

“That is good to hear. You’ve nothing to fear from Alistair, I can assure you. Give him a chance, and you may even find yourself enjoying his company.” The Dalish elf’s tone was light, but Anora could tell he was trying to goad her into something. Unfortunately, her mounting irritation meant he was succeeding.

“Alistair hardly seems a man to fear.” If Leo caught the slight insult that was supposed to be, he didn’t react to it.

“Not at all. He’s a kind, loyal man. You couldn't ask for more from a husband,” the elf replied, grinning at her. “You seem to have been unusually lucky in that department.” Anora heard blood roaring in her ears, but she used every bit of her practiced self control to tamp it down.

“You speak very highly of your friend, Warden. Are you sure _you’ll_ be content, once he and I are joined in a way even closer than you are?” Anora had been around the pair of Wardens enough to tell that they thought of each other in a manner akin to brothers. But her impudence didn’t provoke the anger or jealousy she’d been hoping for from Leokoris. Instead, he reacted to the barb by laughing merrily. The timbre of his mirth was strangely musical, and she was struck by the thought that coming from someone else, she’d have thought it a lovely sound. With a start, Anora noticed a heavy flush suffused his face. _He’s drunk._

“Believe me when I say, Your Majesty, that you should thank your Maker you’ll not be joined in the way Alistair and I are.” A dangerous gleam entered his eyes, and Leo stood. He stalked towards her while taking a swig from the large skin, and then suddenly it was flying at her face. Anora caught it more from sheer instinct than anything else. “Have a drink with me, my queen. A toast to a happy union.”

“I don’t-”

“T’would be most rude to refuse the Hero of Ferelden,” the elf interrupted, his eyes shining like sapphires in the pale moonlight as he crossed the Chantry and stopped in front of her. “ _Drink.”_

Anora was not a woman easily cowed, but something about the Warden’s gaze and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were almost unnaturally bright, and for all her considerable experience reading intent from people, they held no clues for her as to what he was thinking. _Dangerous and unpredictable,_ Rendon Howe had called him in the correspondence she’d seized after the traitorous lord's death. As she lifted the wineskin to her lips, Anora cursed herself for not remembering to strap her dagger to her thigh, fashion be damned. The thought wasn’t helped when she tasted the skin’s contents and the wine within was so strong it almost burned her tongue. It had been fortified several times over, and Anora realized the skin was rather light as well. _He’s very, very drunk. Will he even remember this?_ She took a deep gulp of the strongwine. If she had to endure conversation with the man who killed her father, she might as well try to make it more bearable.

“Have you ever heard of The Calling?” Leo’s voice had lowered now that he was nearer to her, and she could her the roughness in it from the drink. Considering his small frame, Anora frankly found it remarkable he was still coherent.

“No, I have not. It sounds ominous.” She tossed the skin back to him, warmth spreading in her stomach from the wine. Leo nodded at her almost pleasantly, though when he spoke his voice had darkened.

“It is. It’s a great secret of our order,” he began, his gaze now filled with a queer kind of mischief. “You should keep it to yourself. But since you’ll soon be tying the knot with a Warden, I figure you’d have learned about it eventually.” Leo took another, smaller drink from his wineskin, then passed it back to Anora. She drank deeply once more. “You know that in order to become Grey Wardens, we imbibe ritually prepared darkspawn blood. It gives us the Taint, while allowing us to retain our humanity.”

“I’m familiar enough with the process.”

“It’s a lie,” Leo’s voice was harsh. “In truth, the Joining only delays the progression of the Taint. Eventually, even Grey Wardens fall victim. We become ghouls, like anyone else infected with it.”

“What?” For once, Anora’s carefully constructed mask slipped, and sheer surprise shown on her face. “You mean you’re all doomed?”

“Quite,” Leo said sardonically, more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. “But before the process can reduce us to slavering servants of evil, Grey Wardens make a final pilgrimage to the Deep Roads so we can take as many Darkspawn with us as possible.” He indicated to Anora that she was welcome to anything left in the skin, though she was too shocked to finish it yet. “So instead of a slow descent into mindlessness, we just have to endure a year or two of pain and nightmares, and then we get to be ripped apart quickly.”

“That’s...terrible,” Anora finally said, and she meant it. Though she would shed no tears for the man in front of her when it happened to him, it was an awful fate for anyone, especially when they knew it was waiting for them. “But why are you telling me this? Preparing me for when it happens to Alistair?”

“Somewhat,” Leo replied, his eyes and voice inscrutable once again. “Mostly, though, I wanted you to know the fate that would have awaited your father had he joined us. I actually think the death I gave him was kinder, in the end. I almost envied him it.” 

“Is that what you tell yourself? That killing my father after you’d already defeated and disgraced him was _mercy?”_ Anora knew she should just walk away from this, but whether it was the alcohol or just having to spend all day hearing people wax poetic about the Hero of Ferelden, she couldn’t bear his taunts a moment longer. She figured yelling at him when there was a chance he wouldn’t remember the night was the best time possible anyway. “I’ll be forced to offer you food from my table and a bed under my roof for as long as I’m queen, but I’ll not stand for you calling your act of petty vengeance _mercy.”_

“Oh, mercy was the last thing I had on my mind when I opened your father’s throat,” Leo hissed. All of his false cheer and mocking courtesy vanished in an instant, and his eyes blazed with azure fury. His jaw and fists were clenched, every ounce of him radiating barely contained violence, but his voice was calm. “I killed your father because I _hated_ him. I hated him more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life. It followed me from Ostagar across this entire fucking continent, my hate for him. It warmed me in the cold and lit the way for me in my darkness. I broke my fast with it in the morning and bed down with it at night. Even when I woke in the arms of the woman I loved, my first thought each day was of your father taking her from me.” Leo shook his head, as though in disbelief. “The dreams in which I killed him were my only reprieve from the call of the Archdemon. At some point, I think I knew his face better than my own father’s.”

“It sounds less like you hated him, and more like you feared him,” Anora said, ever so softly.

Leo laughed again at that, though it was a cold and mirthless one. “Why Your Majesty, I took you for a shrewd woman. Of course I feared him. Hate is just fear put to good use.” Leo turned and walked towards the statue of Andraste shrouded in moonlight, as though he was addressing the heavens alongside Anora. “And why shouldn’t I have feared him? Loghain Mac Tir was one of the greatest men in Ferelden. He was a general and a war hero, a high and noble lord. I was quite disappointed when I met your husband at Ostagar, great golden fool that he was. But then I met Loghain, and I understood. _Ah, here is the man behind the throne,_ I’d thought. _Here is the true steel of the Theirin dynasty.”_ Anora had not known that the Warden and her father had met previously, but Leokoris didn’t give her time to reflect on that. He whirled around, facing her once more. “But once I finally met the great Loghain Mac Tir in battle, when I was finally given the chance I’d prayed for every day since Ostagar…” he scoffed. “It turned out he was nothing more than an old, done man, too afraid of death to do his duty.”

Anora had thought she was long past defending Loghain and his many sins. But upon hearing Leo’s words, all she could see in her mind’s eye was the look her father gave her when he knew he was going to die. _Anora, it’s over._

“My father was many things, a traitor included,” she choked out. “But a coward wasn’t one of them.”

“No?” Leo asked. “If he hadn’t betrayed us, we would have won at Ostagar. The Blight would have been ended then and there. But instead, he quit the field and abandoned scores of men to die. Until the Landsmeet, I always assumed it was because he wanted the throne. But when I fought him, I realized the truth.” Leo’s voice and face conveyed an odd blend of disgust and, strangely enough, sadness. “You saw our duel. He was old, and too slow in that heavy plate. He might have felled two or three Darkspawn before a hurlock beheaded him or a genlock put an arrow through his eye, but Ostagar would have been his grave. So he made it Cailan and Duncan’s instead.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Anora began. She didn’t know why she was still here, why she was still arguing over a dead man’s legacy with someone who’d never mourn him, but nothing in her life made sense anymore. “But perhaps you are wrong. People had been trying to kill my father for decades. Just because you succeeded doesn’t mean others would have. It doesn’t change what he did to you, or what you did to him.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Leo agreed. His voice had lost its furious edge, and now he just sounded tired. “But strangely enough, I think seeing him as a coward is kinder to my eyes.”

“Why?” Anora couldn’t help but to ask.

“Because for most of my life, I wished my father had been one too.” Anora had not expected that answer.

“What...what do you mean? You wished-”

Leo cut her off. “My father was one of the best men I’ve ever known. He was a hunter for our clan. He never failed to bring food to his people, even in the leanest seasons. He was good to my mother, and to me. I loved him dearly.” Leo shifted and glanced away, and when the light hit his face at a different angle, Anora finally realized why his eyes shone so. They were wet with unshed tears. “Until one day when I was ten, one of our hunters didn’t come back. My father was one of the trackers who went out to look for him. He found him injured by a direwolf, and soon enough the pack had set on them. My father, brave noble soul he was, sacrificed himself to hold them off and let the other hunter escape.” Leo shook his head, features finally softening a little. “After the clan went back and found him, they wouldn’t let me see his body. But by then, I was already too light of feet and clever for most of them. I snuck in to see him at night. The wolves had ripped his throat out, and chewed off half his jaw. I was glad they left his eyes, at least. Everyone always said I have his eyes.” Despite his obvious pain, Leo’s voice never wavered, nor was it even thickened or colored by grief. “For years afterward, I wished my father had been a coward and let the other hunter die. It was his folly that got him injured. Why did my father have to pay the price? Why did he give us up to save another?”

“Because he was a good man,” Anora responded, no malice in her voice.

“Aye, that he was,” Leo said wearily, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ironic, isn’t it? I hated your father for doing what I’d always wished mine had. I suppose that’s why I did what I did. I learned early the perils of being a good man.”

Anora didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry about-”

“No you’re not.” The trace of vulnerability in Leo’s voice was gone, and his eyes were shuttered once more. “You need feel no sympathy for him, or me. I killed your father, and I feel no sympathy for Loghain Mac Tir.” The Warden brushed past her, making for the door. He paused before them, and as he rested a hand on the worn oak, his voice carried back to Anora. “Maybe he was a power-hungry despot, like I always thought. He wouldn’t have been the first.” Leo glanced back. “Or maybe he just wanted to come back to his daughter. Either way, he’s in the ground with my father now, and our sympathies bring them no comfort. Let us save them for those to whom they can.” With that, he pushed the doors open and walked out.

For a moment, Anora was still. She gazed at the statue of Andraste, the question of whether she ever found it within her heart to forgive Maferath leaping unbidden into her mind. When no answer came, she drained the wineskin and left, the door swinging shut behind her.

  
  



End file.
